Love in a Time of Uncertainty
by SilveryMoon34
Summary: Post war. Their relationship is purely a physical one...until the unthinkable happens. DM/HP slash.
1. A Strange Feeling

**A/N: Eh, sorry for the title…it sounded waaay better in my head…but anywho, ANGST! *gasps* Sorry…don't know what happened. Pure angst is not my usual cup of tea, but when this idea popped into my head, it demanded my instant attention, whether I wanted to give it or not…But enough with the rambling…Enjoy =)**

**Love in a Time of Uncertainty**

Draco Malfoy ducked into the Leaky Cauldron late one stormy evening. With the hood of his cloak still up, he surveyed the scene before him with narrowed eyes. Even before the War, he would have never graced such a sorry establishment with his presence; but this was the place the note had indicated…

Normally, he wouldn't have answered a mysterious note sent by Merlin knew who-there was just too high a risk that the sender was one of many who wanted Draco dead for his part in Dumbledore's death-but the Leaky Cauldron was a public enough place, and the handwriting…it had looked familiar to Draco, familiar enough to spark a rare fit of curiosity. Thus, he was here now.

Draco moved to the far side of the room, away from the only two patrons in the entire place-two scruffy-looking ruffians at the bar-throwing off his rain soaked hood as he went.

"Firewhisky, straight." He growled at a nearby waitress as he sat down. She scurried off, avoiding his eye like everyone else in the Wizarding World.

In the upper corner, behind the bar, was a muggle television set, a quaint little addition that had the War to thank for its presence in a wizard's pub. It was on but Draco ignored it, staring instead into his glass of firewhisky when it arrived.

That didn't last long. "Hey, Malfoy! MALFOY!" One of the ruffians shouted, though the place was not crowded, and Draco's hearing was perfectly fine. As Draco glanced up reluctantly, the man pointed at the television.

"Friends of yours?" He sneered. His completely inebriated companion laughed, as if he had said something extremely clever. Against his will, Draco found his eyes following the man's finger up to the television. He quickly lowered his eyes again when he saw what it was, feeling sick. Yes, he knew those faces. His former school friends, Crabbe and Goyle, had been captured by the Ministry. They had insisted on continuing their fathers' work, though the Dark Lord and their fathers had long since perished, the War they started long since lost…Draco drained the firewhisky in one go, hoping the burn would blot out the memory of the haunted looks in his former friends' eyes. It didn't.

Two firewhiskies later, and he still hadn't managed it. Before he could call for a fourth one, however, the barman appeared from wherever he had been lurking for the past few minutes, coming right up to Draco's table. He tensed, expecting to be told to leave, but he wasn't.

"Malfoy," The barman said curtly instead, jerking his head back toward the other far corner of the room, near the end of the bar. Draco could faintly see a door back there, half hidden by a gray curtain. As he stood up, instantly wary, the barman turned and walked away, towards the half-hidden door. Draco followed after, his fingers finding and lightly gripping the handle of his wand.

The barman opened the door, ushering Draco into the darkened room beyond. Draco reluctantly obeyed-the room practically oozed 'trap!' to him-and wasn't surprised in the least when the door was shut behind him.

What did surprise him, was who he saw when a light flared on.

"Potter." Draco spat. He seriously considered pulling his wand, but a closer look at his former rival sent a rare pang of pity through him.

The War had taken its toll on the Chosen One as well. He looked, quite frankly, like something hell had chewed up and promptly spat back out. His eyes, normally so perky and disgustingly self-righteous, were red-rimmed, the blue stare behind them fuzzy and haunted, speaking of many sleepless and nightmare-filled nights. His hair looked like several tornados had been through it, and his face had picked up some premature lines on his forehead and around his mouth.

"Sit down, Malfoy." Even his voice didn't sound the same. It was heavy, almost croaky, as if it was an effort for Potter to make himself speak. Draco let go of his wand-whatever he wanted, this pale shade of his former enemy posed no threat. He sat at the small table, directly in front of Potter. He leaned back slightly, arms automatically crossing over his chest.

"What did you want, Potter?"

Potter rubbed his eyes, one hand running distractedly through his disaster zone hair, mussing it up even more. "To make peace, Malfoy."

That drew a loud, bitter laugh from Draco. "Bull shite, Potter. If that was what you really wanted, you would be meeting me out in the open, where all of your precious followers could see, not here, in this dank little _closet_." Draco stood up. He was done here. It was a mistake to come-a stupid, _stupid _mistake.

He turned to leave. "Malfoy, stop." He ignored him, reaching for the door knob. Quick as a flash of lightning, Potter yanked Draco's hand off the knob, yanking him around to face him and shoving him violently against the door.

As Draco tensed for a fight-cursing his stupidity for letting his guard down around _Potter, _the man who had defeated the most feared villain in the history of the Wizarding World multiple times-the Boy Who Lived shocked him once more. For, instead of hitting him, as Draco expected, Potter's chapped lips found his as he crowded Draco against the door. It wasn't a nice, chaste kiss. It was hot, desperate and angry, an unwanted and unasked for invasion of Draco's mouth and personal space.

But Draco didn't push him away. Why? Because he understood this. He understood that this was what Potter had really wanted when he invited him here-something dangerous, risky, _insane_. Something that would punish, instead of understand, ridicule instead of praise. That, and the sexual tension that had burned between them since school-fueling their hatred of one another-made Draco the perfect antithesis to Potter's seemingly perfect life, his perfect _family_.

Well, if Potter wanted punishment for some perceived sin, he came to the right man-the perfect man to oblige him.

Draco growled, low and predatory, biting Potter's tongue. Potter gasped, and Draco took the opportunity to invade the other's mouth in return. He was a lot less kind about it than the former Gryffindor, but the other didn't shy away; in fact, he pressed harder into Draco's almost savage response with a small whimper-moan. Draco had read him right-he wanted this. Badly.

Draco smirked slightly. He was going to enjoy this.

He shoved his knee in between Potter's legs, jerking up. Potter's knees went weak, his fingernails digging painfully into Draco's shoulders in an effort to stay upright.

"Muh…Malfoy…" He moaned. Draco bit his sensitive, ruby red lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.

"Shut up." He hissed fiercely. The former Slytherin hooked his foot around one of Potter's legs, pulling. Potter yelped as his weakened knees gave way. Draco let him fall, following him down.

This wasn't much different from their fights in school, Draco found himself noticing dimly as Potter attacked his neck with ferocious, biting kisses, ripping at Draco's clothes. It was just as angry, just as violent…Potter arched urgently beneath him, grinding hard. Draco groaned, shoving back with his own hips, pleasure as sharp as pain spiking through his body.

Potter gasped. Draco ripped open Potter's shirt, not caring in the least that the thin fabric tore, squeezing with his legs as the former Gryffindor tried to buck again. Failing at that, Potter shoved at him, yanking at Draco's cloak and shirt. Draco let him tear both off of his shoulders, before attacking Potter's throat, biting as Potter had but with much more finesse, choosing to bite and suck only the spots that caused the most sensation, the most pleasure-pain. He kept at it until Potter was a whimpering, trembling mass of human-shaped jelly beneath him.

Draco slowed his kissing, turning the harsh biting into torturous, teasing nips on the raw flesh, dragging his nails down Potter's bare back, to the waistband of his slacks. Potter shuddered violently, his own nails clawing furrows along Draco's back as his head moved to Draco's chest. The former Slytherin half growled, half moaned, automatically pressing against Potter's ministrations as he yanked down Potter's slacks and underwear.

"Malfoy!" Potter gasped at the sudden shock of air. Though it felt like he was on fire, inside and out, Draco managed to pause, looking down at the trembling mess of his former enemy, leaning against his chest.

Potter wanted to be punished. Wouldn't it be the greatest, worst punishment of all to leave him like this, horny, desperate, ashamed by the knowledge that it was Draco, not his precious Weasley girl, that brought him to this point?

He might have decided to do just that, except Potter had a trick of his own. He didn't bother with pulling down Draco's pants; he plunged his hand right in, his desperate fingers curling around Draco's one weakness. Draco swore, responding in kind, just as Potter wanted.

He was not gentle. With no lubricant, not even of a magical kind, he pumped the other man hard, focused despite what Potter was doing to him in return.

Despite the pain, Potter was responding, rocking shamelessly with Draco's hand, his eyes screwed tightly shut. Draco groaned again, a low, reluctant sound beneath Potter's shuddering, whimpering moans, something hot and burning building inside him until-

He felt rather than saw Potter go first, shuddering against his hand, but it was only perhaps a second or two before the heat inside Draco, which had quickly grown to an unbearable level, exploded too.

It was rather like what Draco imagined being struck by lightning would be like. His vision went white; every one of his muscles seized up, as if he'd been hit with a Petrificus Totalus spell. And then, in what felt like both a minute and an eternity, the searing pleasure let him go. He slumped against one of the thick legs of the nearby table. The moans had silenced at last, leaving no other sounds except the sounds of their harsh breathing.

Draco, it turned out, managed to recover first. Feeling as if his arms and legs were weighted down with ten ton bags of sand, the former Slytherin dragged his unwilling, post-orgasm body to its feet, pulling out his wand and clearing up the mess on his pants with a quick wave.

As he pulled his shirt and cloak back on, he stared down at Potter, who lay limply on his back, half naked and totally vulnerable, with strangely mixed emotions.

Draco was well aware that he had just been used. It was a feeling he was very familiar with. He also knew, beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt, that he would let it happen again. The festering poison in both of their souls had been lanced out, but in its place an addiction had somehow been allowed to grow, an addiction that would need its fix again very, very soon. It was only a matter of time.

**A/N: *reads back over it* Holy CRAP, I wrote THAT? *hides face in shock and embarrassment* …graphic naughtiness isn't normally my cup of tea, either. I don't know what's wrong with me…but as Draco knows, there's more to come. Hope you guys have the patience to put up with it. (The story has a better plot than just more random angry sex, I promise!) Reviews are love =).**


	2. Hooked on a Feeling

**A/N: Tada! Second chapter! FINALLY! I'm sorry. I couldn't access the edit option for AGES! This is for you wonderful, patient people and everyone who has read and reviewed. Hope it doesn't disappoint =).**

When Draco didn't hear from Potter for two months, he was surprised; when that silence stretched for another month and a half, the confident former Slytherin began to doubt his earlier assumptions. Perhaps Potter was more of a saint than he gave him credit for.

But then, it appeared that three and a half months was the extent of Potter's 'saintly' endurance, because almost two days after Draco grudgingly admitted to himself that he'd been wrong, he found a hastily scrawled note shoved under his front door. There it was, written out in Potter's abysmal handwriting, the location and time of their next tryst-a cheap muggle hotel several blocks from Draco's own home.

Perhaps that said something about how Potter viewed this little misadventure with Draco. Draco himself gave it very little thought-why waste time and energy thinking about something that meant very little? There was nothing personal in this for him-just the feeding of another addiction.

When it was finally time to meet Potter, Draco considered the bottle of whisky in his hand. He shrugged to himself, getting unsteadily to his feet. "Potter can deal with it." He told the vase of fake flowers on his kitchen table firmly before swaggering out, bottle in hand.

**…...**

It must have been a close thing for Potter, because the second Draco walked into the hotel room, Potter literally jumped him, assaulting his mouth and neck with rough, sharp kisses. It was all Draco could do to put his whisky safely on the bedside table before he was yanked down onto the bed itself, on top of Potter.

Draco thought this second go round would be milder, that Potter would have gotten at least some of his drive to be punished out of his system the first time…but no. This second time was just as, if not more than, violent as the first time, a harsh cycle of punish and be punished in return, until Draco felt that lightning struck feeling again.

That was the most insidiously addictive part of this little misadventure, Draco realized as he slowly recovered again. He wasn't like Potter-he could deal without the pain that went along with the pleasure. It was that overwhelming lightning-strike of pleasure that would keep him coming back to this, nothing else. Though he would never admit it-not to himself and certainly not to Potter-that in all of his many conquests, it had never felt that intense before. Only Potter, for whatever godforsaken reason, seemed to possess the ability to do that to him.

In what was quickly becoming the norm for these encounters, Draco dragged himself out of the bed, retrieving and repairing his tattered shirt, and yanking it back on before leaving, whisky bottle in hand, without a backward glance.

**…...**

The encounters didn't end there-the addiction still held strong in both of them. A month later, it happened again…and again, a month after that. It became a regular thing: Draco would come home from work one day, and exactly one month after the previous encounter, another note would be there waiting for him. He'd go, and when it was over, he'd leave.

In his clearer moments, when he was of a mood to resist the bottle, he noted wryly that this little arrangement made him pretty much Potter's personal male prostitute, only without the added the perk of getting paid for his trouble.

But, there _was _a perk to it, one he found shortly after the second encounter. Sex with Potter worked better than a sobriety charm on his alcohol-flooded system, so one night a month, he could drink himself silly twice.

What was left of his Malfoy pride and dignity had a nasty habit of pointing out that this was hardly a fair exchange, but what the hell. Potter had been taking everything decent in his life away from him since they were children. Why should he stop now?

Things were going well-as well as these sort of things went, at any rate-until their seventh encounter.

Draco knew something was different the second he walked into the rundown little flat Potter's note had indicated. For once, Draco wasn't jumped the second he walked through the door, nor when he walked into the bedroom. For the first time since that first encounter, Draco was the one who initiated it, and just before he did, he could have sworn that Potter had been crying.

Even the experience itself was different. Potter seemed to be more desperate than angry this time, more prone to actual kissing than biting, touching, stroking the marks he had already made on Draco's pale skin rather than clawing out more. But the biggest surprise came after it was over.

Draco rolled out of the bed, immediately reaching for his bottle of Jack Daniels and taking a long pull-not to start his drinking binge early, but in the hope that the burn of the alcohol would wash away the sudden, strange feeling that had taken up unwelcome residence in his gut.

It worked (or at least he told himself it did). But as he started to get up to begin the routine hunt for his clothes, he heard-

"Don't leave. Not-not yet." Potter said behind him. His tone was not commanding, but meek. Vulnerable. All but begging not to be left alone this night.

This was an odd, completely foreign experience for Draco-all his former conquests had always been all too happy to get rid of him after they were through, even before he was notoriously connected to the Dark Lord…

After a second of indecision, Draco lay back down on the rickety bed, mentally blaming the decision on the nippy cold of the unheated flat and his own post-coital exhaustion.

He lay on his back, staring up at the chipped, nicotine stained ceiling, acutely aware of Potter's presence on the other side of the (thankfully king sized) bed but making no move to even look at him. Potter seemed content with this decision, staying well away from Draco's side of the bed. The former Slytherin felt and heard him turn over, and soon his quiet snores filled the otherwise silent room.

Draco sighed, leaning over to take another draught off his bottle. This was going to be a long night.

**…...**

After that night, Draco got notes more often-every three weeks instead of every month, and Draco…found himself staying after each time, but he still refused to look at or move any closer to Potter, as if that would make up for his stupid decisions to stick around.

But apparently, even with the silent treatment afterwards, Draco's sticking around must have giving Potter the very wrong impression that he gave a shit outside of sex, because, after yet another weirdly intimate, barely angry session, he opened up-and not in a way that Draco was remotely interested in.

"Ginny and I are getting a divorce." Potter confessed as they lay near each other, panting and covered in sweat after their respective releases.

Misinterpreting Draco's incredulous look entirely, Potter went on quickly. "She never found out about…this…" His vague gesture took in the hotel room, and both of their very naked selves. "Things were strained between us before…this…ever started. Ever since the nightmares…" Potter's voice trailed off, his eyes glazing over as he remembered.

It all made sense now. Potter had wanted to be punished because he felt like it was his fault that his now failed marriage to the Weasley girl had been failing. His failed marriage, too, had been the reason why Potter had started wanting to see him so frequently, why he no longer wanted to be alone afterwards…

Feeling faintly sick with self disgust, Draco rolled away from Potter, reaching for his bottle-back to good old whisky tonight. As he lifted it for a swig, Potter burst out, "Why do you keep _doing _that?"

Draco ignored him. He didn't have to explain himself to anyone, least of all to _Saint_ _Potter_.

But then, 'Saint' Potter grabbed the bottle, jerking it out of Draco's hand. "I'm pouring my heart out to you, you _ass_. The least you can to is bloody pay attention!"

Draco waved his hands in mock horror. "Oh dear Merlin, Potter's having a crisis! Drop what you're doing, world, and listen to him bitch and moan about it!" He dropped his hands, glaring. "News flash, Potter: the world doesn't work like that. It doesn't give a rat's ass about your emotional or martial problems, or how many times you've been kicked into the dirt, not anymore. And neither, for that matter, do _I_."

Draco snatched the bottle back from Potter's shock loosened grip, and, magically re-dressing himself with a flick of his wand, he marched out of the hotel room, slamming the door shut behind him.

**…...**

After that episode, Draco would have been all too happy to never see Potter's selfish, arrogant, self-centered, bespeckled mug ever again…and it seemed like he got his wish. Three more weeks, then six, came and went with no sign nor note from Potter…

And Draco didn't miss it. Not at all. He certainly didn't look for a note shoved under his front door every time he came home from work, and he _certainly _didn't feel the barest hint of disappointment when he didn't see one…

His peace didn't last. One evening, as he was relaxing in his favorite green and silver armchair, he jumped hard as the intruder wards in his front yard suddenly went off-installed there after someone tried to set fire to his house not too long ago.

Sighing in annoyance-at both the unwanted visitor and at the flare of curious hope the wards' noise had triggered in him, Draco got up to go have a peek through this door's peephole. His heart did a weird, shuddering beat at what he saw (something he conveniently refused to acknowledge.).

_Potter_. Potter was on his doorstep. Draco's had automatically rested on the doorknob, but he didn't open it. Not yet.

"Mal-Draco. I know you're in there. I heard the alarms shut off." When Draco still didn't open the door, Potter sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, shuffling his feet. Dear Merlin. Was Potter actually _nervous_?

"A-all right. I suppose I deserve much worse than being ignored, for what I said." His head lifted, meeting Draco's eyes through the peephole, though he didn't know it. His eyes were quiet, miserable, _pained _behind those damned taped up glasses. "I hope you're listening, anyway. I-I'm sorry for what I said, back in that hotel room. For being such a self centered ass. I know now that you haven't had the best time of it since the War, either. I know…that Astoria left you after you turned informant for the Ministry, leaving England entirely with your son. I know Lucius disowned you after your parents were forced to flee the country…"

Draco did open the door, then. "You do know that its _illegal _to use the Auror Archives for personal gain?" Somehow, he wasn't angry about this gross invasion of his privacy. In fact, the strongest emotion he could muster up was mild irritation, and that was more at the Archives' lax security than at Potter.

"I know." Potter's voice had gone faint at Draco's sudden appearance, making his reply barely above a whisper. His gaze was pleading, _begging_ Draco to forgive him.

Draco snorted, but there was no real scorn behind it. "Stop looking at me like that, Potter. Have at least _some _dignity."

Potter gave a shaky laugh. "Dignity has nothing to do with it when everything seems to be going to hell."

Draco shrugged. "True." He stepped back, holding the door open for Potter. He took the silent invitation eagerly, following Draco back into Draco's kitchen/dining room. As he perched, almost childlike, on a chair at the table, Draco rummaged in one of his cabinets. When he turned around with a bottle of rum and a small glass in hand, Potter's face darkened.

"Is that why you drink so much?" He asked softly, surprising Draco as he put the two items on the table. "Because of your family?"

It was a perfect moment for Draco to make a snarky comment about Potter's intelligence, but Potter's words hit too close to home. Suddenly, he felt too tired and worn down to bother. "Yes."

As he started to pour himself a drink, Potter's hand stopped him, covering the glass. Draco looked up, surprised by his former enemy again.

Potter's gaze was soft, gentle-understanding this time, not condemning. "Please, Draco. I need you sober when I ask this."

Draco made a face. "It takes more than a small shot of rum to get me drunk, Potter." But he put aside the alcohol and the glass anyway, seating himself across from his guest.

Potter gave a small, meek smile. "Thank you." He took a deep breath, one hand running nervously through his hair again. After a moment, he lifted his gaze back to Draco's. "I know you'll be alone this Christmas."

Draco raised one pale eyebrow. "And?"

"So will I. So I was wondering…how about we spend it together, at my house?"

Draco managed to hide his surprise-barely. Harry freaking _Potter _just asked him to spend _Christmas _with him. In a rare moment of tactlessness, Draco blurted the first thing that came to his mind. "What about the Weasleys?"

Potter's face grew pained. "Ron, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley invited me, but I…I can't, not with Ginny there. It would spoil the others' Christmas."

An irrational pang of hurt stabbed into Draco's chest. "Glad to see that the great Harry Potter's personal prostitute warrants at least the honor of being a second choice." He growled sarcastically.

Potter's eyes widened in horror. "No! No, Draco, that's not what I meant at all! You _were_ my first choice, I just…I…" Harry's head thumped down on his arms, which were crossed on the table. "I'm messing this up big time, aren't I?"

A small spark of amusement made Draco's lips twitch up slightly as he crossed his own arms over his chest. "Yes."

Harry's head came back up. He looked at Draco, his gaze pained and desperate once more. "Will you at least consider it?"

Draco feigned thought. "Maybe."

Harry nodded, resigned. "Okay." He stood up. "Thanks for listening, at least."

Draco may have stayed silent and let Harry walk away, but something about him-how his shoulders were half slumped in defeat, perhaps?-that made him speak up before the other had even left the kitchen. "I've considered it."

The hopeful look on Harry's face as he looked back at Draco was enough to break Draco's heart, if he had had enough of one left to break. "And?"

Draco found his mouth speaking once more without his brain's permission. "The answer is yes."

From the look on Harry's face, it was as if Draco had agreed to marry him. "Good. Good! I promise, you won't regret it!"

Draco found himself smiling, caught up in Harry's enthusiasm as he rolled his eyes, shooing Harry out of the kitchen and back toward the door. "Whatever. Get out of here, Harry, before I hex you."

It wasn't until he shut the door behind his guest that Draco realized he had been calling Potter Harry-in his head, and at the last second, with his mouth.

**A/N: Aww! I am unashamed to admit that most of this chapter had me squeeing like a crazy fan girl as I wrote it. Hope it did the same for you. As always, reviews make me feel loved =).**


	3. An Auror's Christmas

**A/N: Annnd the third chapter! Thanks again for everyone's patience, reviews, favorites, story alerts and for generally being awesome. Hope this doesn't disappoint!**

Christmas was a mere two weeks away. Draco supposed he should get his arse in gear and get Harry a present…except…Draco had no idea what Harry would possibly want.

After a week of finding nothing remotely appropriate in any store he found the time to look in, Draco was starting to get desperate-desperate enough to look inside his own house.

There was a few boxes of things from the old Malfoy manor that his mother had given to him, without his father's knowing, before they fled for Italy after the War. Draco had never bothered to look through them-too many memories he would rather stay buried…

Draco switched on the closet light, narrowing his eyes at the offending boxes. It was a travesty that he had allowed them, and the memories they contained, to haunt him for so long. It was an even worse travesty that his hunt for a present for _Potter_, of all people, was what made him realize this.

"Damn Scarhead," Draco grunted to himself as he tore into the first box.

It was full of Draco's old childhood things. It didn't take long for it to be obvious that there was nothing present worthy in, for though Draco might have found a toy dementor or troll amusing to receive (which he did, once upon a time) he seriously doubted that Harry would.

After a moment of looking at the two toys-he really did have a bizarre and dark childhood-he dropped them back into the box and shoved it aside.

The second box was full of his old school things-old textbooks, random bits of blank and written on parchment, a Slytherin Quidditch banner…he smiled slightly as he came upon a 'Potter stinks' badge. His own idea, and a great one at the time. He sighed as he put it back, sliding the box aside. He couldn't help but wonder what younger, fourth year Draco would make of present day adult Draco's current situation…

The third box was a surprise. It wasn't any of Draco's old things, but his grandfather's. Lucius had hated his own father, so Draco had only seen him once-one disastrous Christmas when he was eight years old. His grandfather had been a Slytherin, too, but at times it had seemed to even eight year old Draco that he have behaved more like a Gryffindor, which somehow made Lucius angry…and for some reason, which Draco was still not privy to today, Lucius had cut all ties with his father, just as he had with his son. But Draco's grandfather had taken an instant liking to his grandson that Christmas, and had started sending young Draco letters in secret.

As Draco dug through the box, he noticed that all those letters were here, crisp yellowed envelopes scattered among his grandfather's things…suddenly, his hand found something smooth and cold underneath a thick stack of letters. Curious, he pulled it out.

It was his grandfather's pocket watch, the last thing he had sent to Draco before the letters had stopped coming his third year. Though it had been his grandfather's the plain gold watch had never meant much to Draco-it didn't even work, no matter how many times he had cast Reparo on it, and the clasp was a bloody pain to open…but perhaps Potter would appreciate it as an antique, if nothing else. Perhaps he could even get it to work again…

With this in mind, Draco got up to hunt down a small box and some wrapping paper.

…

The next week flew by in a blink of an eye, and Draco soon found himself walking up the garden path to Harry's three story Georgian house. It was beautiful-the product of an overworked auror's salary-but it had the haunted feel of a mausoleum. No children played here, no wife puttered around cleaning up and scolding…the house's only resident was gone for long periods of time…Draco's heart ached as he recognized the glaring similarities to his own life.

He sniffled. "Damn Scarhead," he growled to himself before banging loudly on said Scarhead's front door.

It opened to Potter and his old, disgustingly perky grin. "Hey Draco. Come on in."

When Draco followed him in, he was instantly assaulted with twinkling lights. Potter had gone crazy with them-it literally looked like Father Christmas had vomited his holiday cheer all over the house. Lights, mistletoe, candy canes, Santas and elves were _everywhere_.

"How many did you say would be here?" Draco asked dubiously.

Harry's grin faltered. "Just us."

Draco shook his head to himself as Potter led him further into the house. He didn't know whether to say thank you for going through all the trouble, or to comment on how sad it was. In the end, he said nothing at all, thoughts of his own empty, decorationless house looming large in his mind.

Potter-Harry, Draco corrected himself-led him into the living room, where a small Christmas feast waited on a low table, in front of a roaring fireplace. A considerably large, fully decked out Christmas tree sat proudly in the corner, a few presents underneath it. It was actually rather…cozy. Draco found himself telling Harry so as they sat down to the small feast. Harry beamed happily in response.

Before they could start, however, there was another knock on the door. Harry gave Draco a curious look. The former Slytherin raised a pale eyebrow. "Don't look at me. I didn't invite anyone."

Harry actually rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

Draco glared back, but there was no real heat behind it. "Go to hell, Potter." Harry just laughed and went to go see who it was.

A few minutes later, and he came back, Weasley in tow. "Sorry, Harry," he was saying. "Hermione kicked me out."

Draco snorted, drawing Weasley's attention, which quickly became a glare. "What the bloody hell is the ferret doing here?"

Draco smirked, cocking his head slightly. "What's the matter, slugs? Jealous?"

Weasley started to lunge at him, but Harry grabbed his shoulder. "He's here because I invited him, Ron. Now can you two _please_ not fight? Its Christmas."

Weasley had the decency to look ashamed. "Sure, Harry. Sorry."

Harry seemed to relax, his cheerfulness returning. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad you're here. Both of you." He shot Draco a challenging look as Weasley looked away. Draco made a face back but said nothing.

He may have been able to tolerate Weasley's presence, except for one thing, something that quickly became apparent as the day wore on into evening: alcohol loosened Weasley's tongue-and not a little bit. It wasn't long at all until he was regaling them with a more detailed explanation as to why he was here.

"I wanted to bring everybody over here to have Christmas with you, Harry, but Hermione said the kids needed to see the rest of the family so we had a big fight…but that wasn't the half of it…"

Draco tried to keep quiet, for the sake of being a good guest, but the Weasley family soap opera was just too much. "Good God, Weasley, _enough _already."

Weasley glared at him-or at least, Draco assumed Weasley was glaring at him; his drunken gaze was actually pointed somewhere over his shoulder. "Shove it, ferret. Nobody asked _your _opinion."

Draco glanced over at Harry, who was getting that pinched, pained look on his face again. "I can understand why Granger threw him out now."

Weasley lurched to his feet, hands balling into tight fists. "Well at least when its all said and done, _I_ will still have a wife and kids to come home to, and a proper _family_. What have you got, Malfoy? Oh right, nothing! Your wife and kid left your miserable ass, and you ratted out the rest of your friends and family to the Ministry to save your own skin!"

That was not a good nerve for anyone, especially Weasley, to strike. Draco slammed his mug of after dinner coffee down hard enough on the table in front of him to make the thick glass crack. "Do you want to know the real reason why I 'ratted' them all out?" His voice was deadly quiet, his grey gaze hot enough to melt steel. "I'll tell you. They were all Death Eaters, gathering together to finish what the Dark Lord started with the War." Draco leaned closer to Weasley, his voice dropping another mesmerizing degree. "Want to know how they were going to do it, Weasley? First, they were going to destroy Hogwarts, wiping it and everyone in it completely from existence. Then they were going to systematically murder every one of the student's families, until they found you, Potter, Granger, and whatever remained of the Order of the Phoenix. When they found you, they were planning to torture each one of you, until killing you would be a greater mercy than letting you live. That, Weasley, is why I turned against my own flesh and blood, to save Hogwarts and every ungrateful ass within and without its walls, so do _not _make the mistake of insulting me by thinking you know me, you bloody Weasley _bastard_."

As Weasley stared at him in shock, mouth hanging open and skin ashen, Draco took a deep, calming breath and turned to Harry. From the look on his face, Draco's monologue had been news to him, too. Typical of the Ministry to keep such a truth hidden, even from its own aurors and their archives. "Thank you, Harry, inviting me, but its time for me to go now. Merry Christmas."

He was halfway down the garden path, when Harry burst out the house behind him. "Draco, wait."

Draco glanced behind him, but didn't stop. Harry caught up with him just as he reached the gate. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I seriously doubted that you would have believed me. And if the Auror Archives weren't so inadequate, you'd already know."

He smiled sheepishly as he gazed at Draco. "Now I feel like double-no _triple _an ass."

Somehow, the comment made Draco laugh. "I would say inviting me over for Christmas made up for it, but…"

Harry flinched. "Yeah, sorry. I love the guy, he's my best mate, but he can be a total bastard sometimes, especially when alcohol is involved…" He looked over at Draco again, suddenly shy. "I don't suppose walking you home would count as a good apology?"

Draco shrugged. "A walk would be a nice start."

They started off, with no particular destination in mind, just walking side by side in the deepening evening.

Harry's house was at the end of a quiet lane, with a beautiful little park only a few blocks away. As they walked along the little cobblestone path that wound around the edge of the park, every bush, tree and flower in the miniature garden around them gilded in the warm glow of a sunset, Harry's hand brushed Draco's. When Draco didn't put any distance between them at the accidental touch, Harry's hand reached out again, this time deliberately, his long, slender fingers curling around Draco's, almost timidly. Draco stopped, turning to face him, opening his mouth to speak-to say _what_, he wasn't sure. But he never got the chance.

A bush exploded into ominous purple flame right next to them. They jumped apart, instantly drawing their wands.

"_Expelliarmus!_" snarled a voice from behind Harry. Harry's wand shot off, end over end, into the growing dark, and before either of them could act, two very familiar shapes-one large and bulky, the other tall and slim-Apparated in out of nowhere, grabbing Harry by both arms and forcing him to his knees.

"Draco!" Another slightly smaller form appeared, right next to Draco.

He stared in horror as the face materialized. _Crabbe_. Vincent bloody Crabbe, looking as if he'd just risen from the dead. The skin of his face was sallow, eyes bruised looking and sunken in-a face from Draco's worst nightmares, come back to haunt him. He started to back away, but Crabbe grabbed his arm.

It wasn't an aggressive or restraining move-in fact, Crabbe was beaming. "Draco! We came back for you, so we can finish His work. Together, like the old days."

Suddenly, Draco had trouble breathing. It was a long second before he could get enough air to speak. "But…I…?"

Crabbe smiled, and Draco could see pure madness glinting in those dark eyes. "Don't worry, Draco. We know you had no choice but to give us up. We forgive you."

"You can make it up to us." Goyle's voice issued from one of the hooded figures holding Harry, the one directly in front of Draco. "Kill Potter. Avenge our Master."

It sounded scripted-a rehearsed speech. In a sudden flare of dark humor, Draco was surprised Goyle even knew words like 'avenge'.

If it was scripted, Crabbe must not have gotten a copy, because his madness-tinged glee was completely genuine. "Yeah, Draco! Kill Potter!"

That was when it truly sunk into Draco's adrenaline-laced brain what was going on. A wild laugh threatened to claw its way out of his throat. Kill _Potter_? The Boy Who not only Lived, but destroyed the most feared and relentless killer known to wizard and Muggle alike?

But when Draco looked down at Harry, at the frozen look on his face, it wasn't that man that he saw. He didn't see that ridiculous scar. All he saw was Harry, and all the time they'd spent together over the months, every awkward, weirdly intimate second of it.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill Harry, not Harry, because…because…

Because he loved him.

The revelation came at such a horribly cliché moment, that even though he was surrounded by crazy homicidal wizards he once called his friends, Draco almost rolled his eyes at himself. Almost. _Merlin's balls, Draco. One little tryst and you're turning into a damn girl._

Cliché as it was, it made his vision snap into the perfect focus Slytherins were known for. And just like the snake that adorned his former House's crest, he knew exactly how to strike at his former allies. A wicked Malfoy smile fourth year Draco would have been proud of pulled up the sides of his mouth.

"Let go of me, Crabbe," he said flatly, channeling his arrogant younger self. Crabbe let go, instantly backing away to give him room. Draco locked gazes with Harry, raising his wand.

"_Decelerandio!" _He shouted. Crabbe's smile slowly morphed into a look of surprise as time suddenly slowed to a crawl for him, Goyle, and the third man. "_Accio_ Harry's wand!"

The second the smooth wood touched his palm, he brought both their wands to bear, shouting, "_Stupefy_!"

Crabbe and Goyle flew backward, Crabbe slamming into and knocking down the third man. As the newly freed Harry stared up at him in shock, he growled, "Don't just sit there, Potter! Run!" Harry jumped up-too quickly; he staggered. Draco grabbed his hand, taking off.

Behind them, four more Death Eaters appeared. New followers? Crabbe and Goyle couldn't have gathered them all on their own. They had been duller than a box of rocks back in school; he seriously doubted that had changed with five years of maturity…

A new voice rang out as Draco grabbed Harry and yanked him behind a large oak. "He's chosen his allegiance, Crabbe! Kill him along with Potter!" Zabini. It made sense now. It also meant that they were now in worse trouble than Draco had originally thought.

"Harry," Draco shoved Harry's wand into his hand. "call some aurors down _now_, or we're dead."

He nodded, raising his wand. Draco flinched as bright red sparks shot into the air, forming the outline of a phoenix before disappearing.

"Dammit, Potter-"

"Sorry, but there was no other way," he whispered apologetically.

"How long?"

"There's a few auror families nearby. If they saw it…ten minutes, at most."

Draco let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Harry squeezed his hand. "Come on. We need to move."

Pursuit had started after them, and if Draco knew Blaise, he would have them paired and spread out, marching forward to flush them out into the open street beyond the park.

Harry pulled on his hand. "This way."

They darted off, around the edge of the park, dodging in between the ornamental trees and bushes. Harry was leading them back toward his house. Good idea-if they could barricade themselves inside, they could hold out until Harry's fellow aurors arrived.

They never reached it.

It was so close, that open street behind Zabini's line, but as he had been wont to do when he played chess with Draco at school, Zabini cheated.

Draco had been right-Zabini had formed his men into pairs and a line, but Zabini himself was stationed where he could see them if they managed to escape through the rear. Draco saw him just as Harry stepped off the curb.

"Harry!" Draco growled in warning, turning.

Before Draco could bring his wand up in defense, Zabini was already slashing violently with his wand. "_Sectumsempra!"_

A force slammed into Draco's chest, making him stagger back against Harry. He dully heard Harry shout out a counter, but all he could see was red, leaking out of a long, jagged cut across his chest.

"Draco!" He didn't even realize he was sinking until Harry grabbed him, wrapping his arm around Draco's waist and pulling Draco's arm around his shoulders. "Come on, they're coming!"

It wasn't until they started running that the pain came, blurring his vision. Every breath sent ripple of excruciating fire radiating across his chest. He gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain. He'd be a thrice-damned Mudblood Muggle lover if he were the one to slow them down.

But even Draco's formidable will paled in the face of blood loss. By the second block he felt himself slipping…

"Draco!" The rough shake and the sheer panic in Harry's voice jolted him back. "Hang on, okay? We're almost there."

But when they turned the corner onto Harry's street, Harry jerked to a stop. As Draco sagged a little, Harry pulled him closer, his wand hand coming up to cup Draco's head against his chest.

A cold trickle of dread slithered down Draco's spine as he felt the frantic, fluttering beats of Harry's heart against his cheek. As the atmosphere around them suddenly turned bone chillingly cold, Draco's heart threatened to stop beating altogether.

_No._ Draco turned his head, peeking around Harry's shielding hand. Dementors, five of them, glided toward them. As they drifted closer, Draco pushed away from Harry. He flinched as another wave of deathly cold washed over them. Harry stiffened beneath Draco's hands, eyes going wide as he stared at the lead dementor…no, not at; through. They were affecting him quicker and more violently than Draco.

Draco grabbed his face. "Harry, look at me. _Look at me, dammit!_" He smacked him, hard enough to sting. Harry's gaze met his, and recognition flickered, but it disappeared just as quickly into a look of sheer horror as the dementors started to close in on all sides.

"Harry, come _on_." Draco frantically patted himself down, looking for his wand, but it wasn't there. He must have dropped it when he almost passed out.

For a moment, the dementor-inspired fear and hopelessness crashed in on him, racking his body with uncontrollable shivering. But then he shook his head hard, wrapping his hand over Harry's on the handle of his wand. He managed to pull it out of Harry's fear tightened grip, and point it at the dementor in front of them. His free hand found Harry's, his gaze never leaving his face.

"Expecto Patronum!" He yelled with all his might. There was a flash of white in his dark-tinged peripheral vision-and then that darkness swallowed him whole.

**A/N: SUSPENSE! *gasps* (Okay, you can smack me through the computer for that one). Reviews are sugar and spice and everything nice to me =)**


	4. Epilogue

**A/N: Annnd the fourth (and final!) chapter. Fastest update time ever for me, I think. Again: YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME!**

"It was an eagle, Harry. A bloody _eagle_!"

Draco flinched. Weasley's voice was _not _the first sound he wanted to hear upon waking…although, he supposed he should be thankful he was waking up at all, considering the circumstances.

He kept his eyes closed, focusing on the conversation going on close by. Weasley was still speaking. "I mean, honestly. I was expecting a giant snake or something."

"Stereotyping an unconscious man is just plain _rude_, slugs." Draco drawled, opening his eyes.

He was in a hospital room-St. Mungo's, most likely-and Harry, Weasley and Granger were grouped near the tiny room's door to his left. They all looked over in surprise at the sound of his voice, but Draco only really noticed Harry.

He beamed in relief at Draco, coming over to his side at once and taking his hand, lacing his fingers with Draco's. He looked terrible-all worn and peaky, with dark bruise like circles under his eyes-but other than that he was unhurt.

"You look like hell, Scarhead," Draco told him wryly by way of a hello.

Harry grinned in return. "Have you looked in a mirror lately, ferret?"

Draco felt as hellish as Harry looked. The magically regenerating skin beneath the constricting bandage around his chest itched like mad and pulled with each breath. His body ached from lying on the uncomfortable hospital bed for too long…So no, Draco wouldn't be looking in any mirrors anytime soon.

"If I look anything like I feel, I probably don't wish to," He closed his eyes. "So tell me. Why aren't we in the hands of Zabini and his new Death eaters?"

Granger took up the conversation then. "Most of the Aurors in the area saw Harry's signal and came as fast as they could. They caught the Death Eaters by surprise, before they could get organized enough to close their trap behind you and Harry. When they reached you two, your eagle patronus had created a small dome of protection around you while Ron-" here she gazed proudly at her husband, leaning closer to him while he grinned stupidly- "chased the Dementors down the street, away from you."

Weasley puffed up proudly. "All in a day's work." Draco found it exceedingly hard not to gag as Granger smiled and kissed him.

"Ugh." He wrinkled his nose. "Sorry I asked."

As Granger and Weasley excused themselves-probably for some disgusting make up snogging and worse-he spotted something on the small nightstand next to his bed.

It was Harry's present, torn and rumpled but intact. He'd forgotten to give it to Harry before he left…

He reached over for it now, grimacing a little as the bandage pulled. "Here," he said gruffly, tossing it to Harry, who looked at it in surprise.

"What is this…?"

"It's your Christmas present. I forgot to give it to you before Weasley started running his mouth."

Giving him a stunned look-honestly, did he think Draco would forget?-Harry tore off what was left of the wrapping paper and slit open the hand sized box with his wand.

When he saw the old pocket watch, he smiled, his eyes looking a bit wet. "Draco, it's _beautiful_."

Draco touched his matted platinum hair, looking away in embarrassment, his cheeks on fire. "It was my grandfather's," he found himself saying, as if he should explain such an unorthodox gift.

When his eyes came back to Harry, he was moving to open it. Draco was about to warn him about the clasp, but to his surprise, the thing opened easily under Harry's careful fingers. Like it had been waiting for him to come along and open it.

Inside was a clock face made out of pure pale emerald, with silver serpents for hands and onyx numbers. Harry's brow suddenly furrowed. "What's this?"

He tugged on something underneath the soft green silk covering the watch's other side. After a few seconds of patient tugging, a somewhat yellowed photograph slid out.

The photograph was of twelve-year-old Draco. He was sitting against a large tree with the ocean rolling soundlessly in the background, his pet owl Darius sitting on his shoulder, preening his feathers.

It had been partially a candid shot; he had been sitting there with Darius, an unfinished letter to his grandfather on his lap, when his mother had called his name. When he looked up, she gave him only a few seconds to smile before taking it. Thus his picture self looked rather bemused, with the first and only real smile he ever had for a camera.

His mother had given the picture to him to send to his grandfather, who had kept it…Draco blinked sudden moisture from his eyes. He cleared his throat. "Erm, sorry. I had no idea that was in there-"

Harry dropped the watch, the box and the picture on the nightstand and lunged forward, his arms wrapping around Draco's neck as his mouth found his. It wasn't at all like the angry kisses from before; it was sweet, gentle, loving, a firm yet easy pressure against Draco's lips. Draco found his eyes sliding shut as he leaned into the kiss, wondering how the Weasley girl could have willingly walked away from this.

He wrapped his arms around Harry's torso. Harry pulled on him-an attempt to pull Draco off the bed and into his lap-but Draco hissed slightly at the chafing pressure on his chest.

Harry pulled back, green eyes wide with alarm. "Sorry! You okay?"

"Yeah," he replied, a little breathless. It had hurt only a little, and was gone in an instant. He pulled Harry's face back into another kiss, pulling Harry back against him-carefully this time. Harry smiled against his mouth, one hand coming up to stroke Draco's silky hair lightly. The other trailed lower to cup Draco's lower back, stroking the warm skin beneath the flimsy hospital gown. Draco shivered, tightening his grip.

Just then, a nurse poked her head in, to warn them that visiting hours were almost over. The pair broke apart reluctantly, but only their lips; Draco's head rested naturally against Harry's as they both turned to look at her.

As Harry would tell Draco later, this particular nurse was an Auror's wife, and as such, had a habit of turning a blind eye when it came to Aurors and their significant others. So, instead of telling Harry it was time for him to leave, all she did was give him a stern look and a warning: "Mr. Potter, don't excite Mr. Malfoy too much. That healing spell needs time to finish it's work."

Draco could feel the heat of Harry's blush against his own cheek. "Okay. Thank you, ma'am."

When the nurse left, wisely shutting the door carefully behind her, Draco turned back to Harry to kiss him again-this new gentler form of snogging being a good new addiction-but Harry stopped him, half rising in his seat in order to put Draco back down on the bed, against the pillows.

Draco allowed it, but when Harry tried to let go and pull away, however, the former Slytherin's grip tightened, his eyes narrowing. "Where do you think you're going?"

Harry rolled his eyes at him. "You heard her, Draco. You need to heal more before we start…that…again."

Draco sighed. "Potter, why must your mind go immediately to the gutter? There are other things to do together than sex."

Above him, Harry looked confused for a second. But then his eyes widened in exaggerated surprise. "Oh my God. Draco _Malfoy _is asking to _cuddle_!"

Draco's cheeks started to burn again as he realized that, yes, that was exactly what he was asking for. He looked away, his arms slipping from Harry's torso. But he looked back in surprise as Harry caught his arms, stopping them and giving him a gentle kiss. "Sorry. I'd love to." He smiled against Draco's lips. "And besides, I still haven't made it up to you for being such an ass or rewarded you for saving my life."

"Damn right you haven't." Draco shifted over enough for Harry to crawl in next to him. Harry kissed the bandage on Draco's chest lightly before pulling Draco closer to him, resting his head on Draco's. Draco smiled and curled closer into the embrace, pressing his face into Harry's warm chest.

Harry chuckled. "You know I'm not going anywhere?" It was said teasingly, but Draco could hear a serious promise behind those words. Draco's smile widened, a happy glow filling him beneath his damn itching chest. If getting sappy like this made him a total girl…he didn't care, not anymore. He lifted his head, kissing the underside of Harry's jaw. "You better not, Scarhead."

…

Harry kept his implied promise. He was right there with Draco through the remaining days of his recovery, talking, kissing, cuddling. Draco had forgotten how comforting it was to have someone right by his side, expecting nothing in return.

When St. Mungo's finally released him, Harry invited Draco over to his house with the utmost ceremony and politeness. Draco was dubious about it-his only experience there had not been the greatest (not to mention that it had almost ended with their deaths)-but when they arrived, Harry proceeded to make much more pleasant memories by snogging him in every room of the house.

When they got around to snogging in Harry's beautiful, eggshell blue kitchen, things quickly got heated. Harry pushed Draco against the sink, kissing him hard but passionately, not looking for punishment or to punish but something much better.

This suddenly wasn't such a chore for Draco anymore. He wasn't looking for just that brief lightning strike, but for something else, something deeper, more lingering, more…fulfilling.

Harry's tongue gently but firmly pushed into Draco's mouth. He welcomed him in, drawing Harry's tongue into a fierce duel, teasingly stroking and sucking on it. Harry moaned, crowding Draco further against the sink. The former Slytherin half growled, half purred, arching against Harry, grinding his hips against Harry's.

Apparently for Harry, this wasn't nearly close enough. He dipped a little, and Draco inhaled sharply in surprise as he scooped him up and sat him up on the counter, stepping between his legs. Draco responded by wrapping his legs around Harry's waist and squeezing him closer. Both groaned as their respective bulges chafed against one another and their own clothing.

"What do you say to finishing this upstairs?" Harry panted seductively against Draco's mouth. Draco's response was to grind against him again-a definite yes.

…

After that, they were nearly inseparable. Draco spent more time with Harry at his house than at his own. Somehow, they fixed each other-Harry had a companion again, a lover and a friend who challenged him and surprised him in ways Ginny never did, and never could. In return, Harry filled the empty void Astoria had left in Draco's heart, and helped him break the one addiction he didn't care to have anymore-to alcohol-patiently holding him in bed at night, when the withdrawal symptoms were at their worst, being his warm, solid rock as he shook and whimpered.

On the day Draco proclaimed himself permanently sober, Harry celebrated by asking him to stay-permanently.

Shortly after Draco moved in, Harry's divorce was finalized, and his three children were allowed to visit him every weekend. They didn't mind having a second father-in fact, they took to Draco instantly.

When Harry's youngest, Lily, started calling Draco daddy with the shy confidence that was the special dominion of little girls, Draco knew. This was where he should have been all along, not staggering about in a miserable drunken haze. Lily, James and Albus were not Scorpius, and they could never, ever replace him, but…Draco was happy he had them now, happy that they were so quick to make permanent homes for themselves inside the other vacant chambers of his heart.

But just being their father's live-in boyfriend wasn't enough. Draco didn't want Lily calling him daddy to be just an empty title. He wanted his role as Harry's lover and permanent companion to have a physical manifestation, a physical mark besides the occasional love bite on himself and Harry. That's when he went looking for another present.

The Malfoy ancestral bonding rings were lost to him-his mother couldn't have gotten away with giving them to Draco; his father would have noticed their absence-but Draco had memorized what they looked like…

On Sunday, July 31st, Harry was awakened with a birthday breakfast in bed. A little royal blue velvet box sat unobtrusively in the corner of the breakfast tray.

"What's this?" He murmured, picking it up. Inside was an exact replica of Draco's father's bonding ring, but instead of just a giant emerald in the center, it was a ruby and an emerald, magically fused together, each a perfect half, much like a yin yang symbol.

As Harry looked up at Draco in surprise, Draco slowly sank to one knee…

They were married that summer, two months later, on the same beach that Draco had sat near in his grandfather's picture.

His life was still far from perfect-they fought and argued just like any other couple, just like any other family-but it was enough for Draco.

It was enough.

**A/N: Awww...I didn't go too mushy, did I? Let me know, please! I've been dying to ask =)**


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